My eyes fluttered open as a shiver ran down my spine. I glanced around me, my sleep-addled mind not recognizing the room. Large four-poster bed, satin sheets, no duvet. There should be a duvet. I turned to the side - there it was. I stretched out and grabbed a hunk of the blanket, pulling it towards me. A muffled grunt came from within the mass of fabric. I immediately stopped pulling and peered over the lump to where a head should have been located. Mycroft. And the night before came rushing back to me, the office, the coffee, right here on this bed.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood up. Digging around in the dresser I located a pair of pajama bottoms. I slipped them on, rolling up the cuffs an inch or two, and began to putter about the room. A sense of contentment settled into my skin as I gathered up some of the mess. Just as I thought I had tidied up from last night's escapades and began to move towards the window, my foot connected with something sticky.

"The hell?" I cried out, unable to contain the exclamation. I glanced down to my feet - it was the wet flannel from hours earlier. As I bent down to scoop up the cloth, I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Someone was watching me. I spun on my heel. It was Mycroft.

"Good morning," I said, tossing the flannel in the direction of the en suite before moving towards him. He clambered up from the bed, slipping on a pair of pants, and made towards me.

"Morning," he responded, voice scratchy from sleep. I slipped my arms around his waist as we approached one another, my hands connecting behind his back as I pressed our chests together.

"Morning," I repeated, pressing my lips into his left shoulder. At that moment something started buzzing in the other room. Seconds later there was the familiar hum of what sounded like a coffee machine whirring to life.

"I'll have to go in about a half hour," Mycroft whispered in my ear, "But I've got time for a quick breakfast with you. Only if you'd like, of course."

"I'd love that," I assured him, as he slipped out of my embrace and towards his closet. He gathered one of his many perfectly tailored, three-piece suits and started heading for the en suite. "And just where do you think you're going with that mister?" I teased, indicating that he should stay in the room with me.

"Really Gregory. I'd feel much more comfo-"

"And I'd like to see your beautiful body slip into the modern day armor that you so love to wear." A look came over his face, one part astonishment, and one part confusion. I stepped up to him, prying the suit from his hands and pulling it off the hanger.

"Gregory. What are you doing? Please, I need to get to work."

"Oh, you'll get to work. But only when I'm through gawking at you," I replied smirking as I selected one of his plain white, silk shirts and a deep blue tie from the closet. I held both out to him for approval before exchanging them with the preselected red tie.

"Gregory, I really must protest-" I silenced him with a bruising kiss and proceeded to slip the shirt over his shoulders and to fasten the soft fabric around that magnificent chest dappled with freckles. Next went the tie, snugly under the perfectly starched collar. I then knelt in front of him and guided his legs into the pinstripe trousers, pressing my lips just above each kneecap before I pulled his trousers the rest of the way up and delicately fastened them.

"Just the jacket left, and that should wait until after breakfast," he concluded, breaking the reverent silence between us. "Would you like to get dressed, or shall I do it for you?"

"I do believe I'm going to stay like this a bit longer," I smirked, slipping out into the hall in my half-naked state. When I reached the kitchen I began gathering ingredients for a full English: sausage, eggs, bacon, and beans. As I found the frying pan, Mycroft entered, looking more put together, no doubt teeth brushed and face washed.

"I hope you're planning to eat all of that yourself, Detective," he said, "I am on a diet."

"Not this morning you aren't," I stated. He sighed and clicked on the pilot light.

"At least no beans?"

"Alright," I acquiesced, putting the two pans on the stovetop and tossing the sausage into one of them.

"Pass me the eggs," he asked as the pans were beginning to heat up. He quickly cracked four eggs into the pan. "Over easy?"

"Perfect," I replied, and we fell into a companionable silence, broken only by the occasional pop and sizzle of the meat. Everything seemed to flow perfectly. Just about the time the sausages were close to done, it was time to add the bacon to the mix and pop the bread in to fry. Mycroft poured us each a cup of coffee. We slipped into the chairs at the breakfast bar to wait for our meal and sip our coffee.

When everything had finished frying, Mycroft hopped up and fixed two plates piled high with the fruits of our labor. He brought them back to the counter and together we tucked in.

"This is better than some bran and a yogurt," I joked.

"Most definitely more impressive than my usual fare," he smiled, biting into his fried bread with a sigh of contentment. "I'll be leaving in about five minutes, Gregory-"

"I guess I'd better get dressed, then," and I stood up, placing my plate in the sink to wash.

"Wait, Gregory. I simply meant to say that you're welcome to stay as long as you wish." He glanced over at me. "And just leave the dishes, I'll get them in a minute," he said dumping his in the sink as well.

I smiled. "You sure?"

"One hundred percent, and I have spare toiletries under the sink in my room, if you'd like."

"Are you implying something?"

"That you have terrible morning breath? Yes, I do believe I am." With that he stepped closer, swooping down and pecking me on the cheek. "It's a good thing you're as handsome as you are," he laughed, and gave me a tiny push back towards his room before spinning around and turning on the tap.


I had redressed in yesterday's suit and was just finishing up my teeth when I caught a whiff of cigarette smoke. Stepping out into the main room, I saw Mycroft standing at the large bay windows. He had just lit up a cigarette. I walked up behind him, but he didn't seem to notice until I wrapped my arms around his waist, pulling his back tight against my chest. He tilted that beautiful auburn head backwards to rest against me, releasing a small stream of smoke. We stayed like that for a few moments, basking in each other and the morning sun.

"I want us to be something serious." I half mumbled into his skin.

"I do too." He whispered.

"Good, I think, I might…I mean- this isn't coming out right."

"Gregory?" he prodded.

"I know I've developed feelings for you over the years." I practically had to force the words I was so nervous as to their reception. He smiled at me, stubbing out the last of the cigarette.

"I was so sick of finding drunk people," he began, "I would find anyone who would have me." I ran a hand down his arms reassuringly. "I thought… I assumed that I wouldn't be able to find someone who cared about me, someone I cared about. But then Sherlock started to work with you, and I vetted you, and I started to feel things for you. But that just created more problems. Suddenly I had someone to care for, but no chances of anything with them."

"I feel like a fool," I moaned, "All this time we could've been together, wasted out of fear."

"And then last night," he continued, ignoring my outburst. "Last night, I'd had enough. I didn't care if I ruined everything between us, ruined everything for my brother. I was so angry with him, I almost wanted to ruin his chances of getting any more cases. So I called you."

"And I am truly glad you did," I whispered, "because now we both know the truth and we don't have to ignore us. And I fully intend for there to be an us, Mycroft Holmes." He laughed and turned to face me, taking my hands in his own.

"I have no problems with that, Gregory." A large grin spread across his face, identical to my own. I rested my forehead against his, just taking in this new information. Mycroft and me. Mycroft Holmes and Greg Lestrade. If only that stupid woman could see me now, finally happy with someone, and that someone wasn't her. She could take her stupid new boyfriend and his teacher's salary - I've got Mycroft. It was only a few seconds later that my mobile decided to go off somewhere in the distance.

"I had better go get that." I dashed back into the foyer, snatching the phone from my coat, which was strewn over the back of a sofa, just as it went to voicemail. I glanced at the number - Sally. That means a case. "Mycroft," I called back to him, "I've got to head into work."

"I'll drive you in if you'd like," he called from the hall.

"Great," I replied as he entered the room. I slipped on my shoes as he grabbed his umbrella and we were out the door.


He dropped me off about a block from the station. I walked in everyday and didn't really want to start a commotion arriving in a government-issue, black sedan at five-fifteen in the morning. I strolled into the offices, trying to keep a grin off my face - after all, such exuberance wouldn't be acceptable at a crime scene. Sally started rattling off the details of the case: four people dead in an alleyway, no knowledge of murder weapon, no suspects apprehended.

"Just call in Sherlock," I ordered.

"Sir?"

"I'm calling in Sherlock, favour to John," I lied. In all honesty, I just wanted this over with as soon as possible so I could spend the evening with - no. Mind on the job, Greg. Don't let this get in the way of your job.

I clambered out of the car outside of 221B. Heading up to the flat I could hear the violin through the floor boards. Mrs. Hudson popped out of her doorway.

"Oh. Is there a case? He's been ever so terrible this week."

"There's a case, alright, Mrs. Hudson. An important one, I might add. So if you wouldn't mind…?" I trailed off hopefully.

"Right. Of course. Sorry, Detective."

"See you later."

"Bye, dear."

As soon as Mrs. Hudson disappeared back into her flat, I dashed up the stairs and knocked on the door. The violin went silent immediately and the voice inside snapped, "What do you want, Inspector?"

I pushed open the door and cautiously entered, watching for falling mold or some other dangerous substance about to attack me.

"Good morning, Sherlock," I prompted to which he grunted in response.

John shambled into the living room as I was giving Sherlock the basics of the case.

"Morning, Greg."

"Morning, John. What are the chances you can make him take this case?"

"Pretty high I'd say, just give me a couple minutes."

"Fantastic," I left the flat as quickly as I had come in, but with a slightly jauntier step as I was that much closer to an evening with My - no. No, damn it - focus on the work. I climbed back into the driver's seat next to Sally.

"Freak's not coming?" she asked. "Ooh, spoke to soon."

Sherlock was dashing out of the front door towards the police car, a smirking doctor following him at a leisurely pace. As we drove to the crime scene Sherlock began to get antsy.

"So just what were you up to last night, Detective?" he asked.

"I don't know what you mean," I defended.

"Well you obviously didn't go home last night, and you didn't stay at work. So the question becomes, where –or rather with whom- did you spend last night?"

"Sherlock!" John reprimanded. "That is none of your business."

"Thank you, John," I replied, a bit relieved that I wouldn't have to describe my love life to the whole of the car.

Moments later we arrived at the crime scene. There was nothing particularly gruesome, and god knows I'd seen some disturbing murders in the past few years. There were four bodies scattered around the ten-foot stretch of the alleyway - all male, all of impressive stature. Sherlock circled each one before scoffing at our incompetence and declaring the case not even a two.

"I mean even Anderson could have solved this one."

"Hey," came the call from the forensics van, "I heard that."

"You were meant to," Sherlock retaliated with a laugh before he rattled off his description of the murderers. "Yes, of course there were two. Both tall, military or government trained. The victims are criminals of a dastardly nature. You really shouldn't look too far into this one - the perpetrators will have high-level clearance and kill orders. You can see from the way the farthest body is lain that it was moved, meaning the killers attempted to clean up their mess but were interrupted and left in a hurry. I do believe that is enough information for you to be getting on with, Detective. Good morning." And with that, he began to walk away, no doubt to hail a taxi. It was at precisely that moment a black sedan pulled up to the mouth of the alley among the police vehicles.

"Speak of the devil," Sherlock exclaimed, turning to face me. "The government itself has arrived to clean up its little pets' mess."

Mycroft stepped out of the car.

"Good morning, Sherlock, John," he called out. "I hope my people haven't caused you too much trouble," he continued as he came close to us. "Detective." I could feel my heart pounding in my throat. God he looked so good right there. Sun catching his hair, eyes lit up in a smile. I looked at the ground, trying to control my breathing.

"Good morning, Mycroft," Sherlock began in an abrasive tone, "There's something odd about you today and I can't quite place it. It's almost as if - and this would truly surprise me - you were happy. That can't be the case. We all know you can't even comprehend emotions let alone fe-" It was my fist colliding with his jaw that finally shut him up. I'm not entirely sure what about his speech made me lose my temper, but I do know it felt truly amazing to see him sprawling on the damp cement, rubbing his jaw. And with that look of triumph I turned to see Mycroft gaping at me. I grinned, stepping closer to him and throwing my arms around his neck. Mycroft pulled back a little and my arms fell limply back to my sides.

"Not here, Gregory, we do have work to do."

"You just don't want your brother to know about this do you?"

"Gregory, it's for your own good, as well."

"I don't care what people think, and I know that's why you're doing this," I spat out angrily. "This is something serious to me, and I assumed that's what you wanted as well. If that's not the case-"

"That's not what I meant, I just assumed you would want to keep this a secret. It would certainly make things easier for you."

"As interesting as this is," Sherlock interjected suddenly, "Would you kindly take this elsewhere, brother?" I took Mycroft by the elbow, leading him a little ways away.

"You are mine now, Mycroft," I informed him, "and no one, not even your brother, can ever tell me different." And with that I snaked my hand around his neck, pulling him down those two inches to brush my lips with his. A small sigh escaped him at the contact.

Suddenly every officer on the force was discussing my new relationship status, in very loud voices, followed by cat-calls and wolf-whistles.

"Oiy, back to work the lot of ya," I shouted, pointing at the four dead bodies on the ground. "They need to be taken back to the lab." I turned back to the man clambering up off the ground, trying desperately not to kick him for being so dramatic, let alone for the look of astonishment on his face.

"I see now why you were so happy, Mycroft," he jeered as John helped him dust off. "Looks like you finally found someone who will pity you enough to stay with you more than just one night. Although I truly would have assumed you had higher standards than that, Detective. Although I guess after your wife left you for a PE teacher, you wouldn't hold much hope." I almost decked him a second time, it was only Mycroft's hand on my wrist that reminded me where I was.

"Now you listen here, Sherlock, and you listen well. I am the only reason you are allowed to work on these cases. Just what do you think would happen if I happened to find reason to keep you from participating in any sort of investigative tasks? Your brain would rot, you've said so on numerous occasions. And if you ever say anything I could find remotely offensive to your brother or myself again you will find yourself in desperate need of a new job. Do you understand?"

"You need me, Detective. Without me murderers would walk free."

"And I would let them go just to spite you," I countered through gritted teeth. "Now do. You. Under. Stand. Me?"

He spun on his heel and stalked off to the main road. I slipped my hand into Mycroft's. "That should give us a nice solid week's worth of peace."

He smiled at me.

"I'm really happy for you, two," John whispered, obviously not wanting Sherlock to hear him collaborating with the enemy. "Ignore him. He's a git," he continued when he saw my gaze flick over to Sherlock.

"Thank you, John," Mycroft whispered back, "You really are good for him."

"I can only hope so," John mumbled as he turned and followed Sherlock into a taxi.

"Well that may have been the most eventful crime scene I've ever been to," I laughed.

"I've certainly never been to a better one," he squeezed my hand, "I have strong emotions for you, Gregory"

"Good ones?"

"Definitely good ones. Good enough to be love."

A/N: Finally a bit of plot, some confrontation. I believe this is the end of this work so thank you for making it through to the end with me. Sorry if its a little OOC (thepinkunicorn my amazing beta and most super awesomest best friend) says the ending is and in all honesty I can't tell any more. I love you guys 3